


Nothing But Cigarette Smoke And A Picture Frame

by DallasWinston



Series: I Call Shotgun (Said The Dead Man Walking) [3]
Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Dallas Winston deserved better, Dally cries, Dallys Backstory, Dallys life before the gang, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, kind of, soft Dally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:41:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29974053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DallasWinston/pseuds/DallasWinston
Summary: Dally brings Johnny home.
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Series: I Call Shotgun (Said The Dead Man Walking) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196237
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Nothing But Cigarette Smoke And A Picture Frame

“Get in, kid,”

Johnny stared at the car, wondering who he stole it from. It was a nice car, a real tuff-looking one, with red paint and leather seats.

He also wondered why he was getting in the car. He had never driven anywhere with Dally before, they usually walked, or someone else drove. He was mildly scared, judging by his personality, he seemed like a reckless driver, at best.

“I didn't steal it, kid, it's fine. Borrowed it.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes.

“Actual borrowing it, I swear.”

Johnny scoffed, but opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. Dally slammed on the gas, and Johnny nearly hit his head on the dashboard.

“Fucking-” he started, but he was cut off by a sudden stop, tossing him back a little. “Dal, can’t you drive any better?”

“Whaddya mean, Johnny?” Dally grinned.

The driving was negligent and the ride was long, and it was about fifteen minutes before he even bothered to ask where they were going.

Dally laughed. “You really shouldn't get in the car with someone and have no idea where you’re going, ya know.”

Johnny shrugged. “I know you, I trust you”

He didn't catch how Dally's face flushed a little at the comment.

“I’ll tell you when we’re closer,” he said finally, and Johnny nodded. He was fine with that, and he knew if Dally didn't want to tell him yet, he wouldn't, anyhow.

Dally raised both hands off the wheel, glancing over at Johnny to see if he was watching, and Johnny was. He covered his face with his hands and screamed as quiet as he could before Dally grabbed the wheel and turned with the curve of the road.

Johnny uncovered his face and he was laughing, angry but relieved.

“Dammit Dal, don't do that, for crying out loud! I thought you were gonna kill us!” he hissed, still smiling.

They stopped for ice cream, cause they had been driving for nearly an hour and Johnny was hungry, and Dally cursed himself inwardly for being so soft for this kid. 

When they started driving again, Johnny finally asked.

“Are we close, Dal? Can you tell me yet?”

Dally sighed. He didn't know why he had brought Johnny, he didn't know why he felt the need to show him what he was going to, he didn't know why he felt *anything* he'd felt lately, but he tried not to think about that.

“So you know how I always said I was from New York, grew up there an’ all?”

Johnny nodded. Although he hadn't heard many stories about Dally's childhood, he had heard more than the rest of the gang. He never would tell anyone anything Dally didn't want to share, so he guessed that was why. He was good at keeping quiet.

“I was, I guess. Raised there, from about six or so on…” his voice trailed off.

“But..” Johnny said, looking at Dally curiously.

“But, I was born here. Well, not here-” he gestured around them to the empty street they were on- “But there.”

He pointed, and Johnny looked.

It was a rather average-looking house. It reminded Johnny of the Curtis’s, but it felt colder, like it hadn't been lived in in a while like it was abandoned. The paint, a greyish color, was chipping a little, and there was an overgrown garden and vines that snaked up one side, climbing and latching desperate roots onto the roof.

Dally pulled in the little driveway, and got out of the car, leaning against the door. He stood for a minute, just standing there looking, before he shook his head, almost laughing to himself.

“I don't know why I brought you here, Cade. I honestly don't.”

Johnny was still looking at it, a little shocked. It looked too homey for Dally, he couldn't imagine a little six-year-old Dallas running around the lawn or a four-year-old being read to on the front porch steps. It felt like a different Dally, one he didn't know, but sort of wanted to. One that acted his age and wasn't rough and tumble and fights and beer and hatred.

Although he had to admit he liked that too.

“Can-can I see inside?” He said finally, his voice a whisper.

“Sure, I guess.”

Johnny got out of the car then, and followed Dally to the front door. Yanking it open, he let Johnny in and then followed behind him.

The kitchen was pink, was the first thing Johnny noticed, and he almost laughed out loud. The thought of Dallas Winston sitting in a pink kitchen-he didn't know why it was quite so funny, but he felt it was.

It was old-looking still, everything seemed slightly abandoned, but it wasn't dusty, Johnny noticed, and he turned to Dally.

“Do you-come here a lot?”

Dally shrugged. 

“Sometimes, when I need a break.”

Johnny knew what he meant, so he nodded and continued.

The dining room featured an obscure crayon drawing on the wall, signed in red; "Dallas" and Johnny laughed for real this time.

Dally laughed too.

“I got in a hell of a load of trouble for that, man. They never painted over it though, said when I got older they’d use it to embarrass me and my friends.” 

The dining room was a pale green, and Johnny looked around before walking cautiously into the next room.

It was the living room, and it was blue. They really had a thing for wall paint, apparently, and Johnny looked around, examining every possible thing. Dally flopped on the couch, and Johnny winced a little. It felt almost as if they weren't supposed to touch anything, as if it was a relic of Dally's past.

“Go on, kid, look around. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

Johnny nodded. Carefully walking out of the living room, he made his way into what looked like his parent's bedroom, it was a good size, but what made Johnny laugh is that it was purple. Not a light purple, a medium purple, which might have sounded weird but it was perfect, it felt perfect, to Johnny.

The next room was yellow, and it was obviously Dallys. It had a bed, and some toys scattered around on the floor as if kid Dally just went to eat lunch and would be back any second, chattering about nothing and grinning. The dresser had dust on it, and the closet was open, with a few stray kid's clothes hanging. 

The bathroom was small, and he made his way to the living room again, where Dally was still sitting on the couch.

He looked up to the mantel, and he saw Dally, kid Dally, with a stupid haircut and two missing front teeth, grinning wildly between his parents. 

His dad looked happy. He looked a lot like Dally now back then, the way his hair fell over his forehead and the way he smiled. He was holding Dally in his lap, and looking down at him admiringly.

His mom looked kind, soft even. She was slim, and looked to be a brunette like Dally from the photo. Her eyes reminded him of Dally two, with the flecks in the middle that looked like stardust.

He realized he was too close to the mantel, too close to the photo. He didn't want to touch it, he didn't want to break the spell of Dally's childhood, and he didn't want to pick it up or even look at it if Dally didn't want him to.

But Dally was looking soberly at the picture.

“That was before she got sick.”

He said it quietly, with a little bit of a hitch in his voice.

Johnny stayed quiet, he didn't know quite what to say, he didn't know how to fix anything and he hated himself for it.

“It was fine back then, you know? My dad-he was happy. He wasn't drinking yet, my mom...she made him happy, ya know? And then she got diagnosed-'' he stopped, swallowing before continuing- “She got diagnosed, and it was so confusing for a bit, you know? Cause they don't tell you much when you’re a kid, they don't tell you about all the things that can go wrong, they don't tell you that you should say goodbye.”

A single tear threatened to fall. Johnny pretended he didn't notice.

“And it was okay, at the beginning. Cause my dad-he believed, I guess. He would make us dinner when I got home from school, and then we’d go visit Mom in the hospital, and she'd tell us about the crappy food and the nurse gossip, and everything was okay for a bit.”

Dally stopped, as if to catch his breath. He hadn't said this out loud before, he had never said any of this. Johnny didn't move, he barely even breathed.

“And then-when my mom-when it was clear she wasn't doing well..he gave up. And he drank. And he beat the shit out of me, cause it was my fault, my fault I was lazy and stupid and my fault they couldn't pay the bills. And my mom was dying-” he bit back a sob- “And every day I would walk to that fucking hospital, and I’d have a new bruise on my face. And she promised me-she promised me she would get better, and we would get out of here and be a happy family again.”

Johnny still couldn't move.

“But she was so-so thin, and pale, and weak. And I knew, I knew as a fucking kid, that it wasn't gonna happen. I just didn't think she’d die, you know? You don't think about death that young, you don't understand what it means.”

Dally stopped, silent for a moment, and Johnny was scared he wasn't going to continue, but he did.

“And she died, and I wasn't there with her, and I didn't get to say goodbye.”

Dally finally allowed himself to cry, just a little, to break those rules he had set for himself so long ago, only around six or seven. 

Johnny finally found it in himself to move, and crossed the room quickly, sitting down next to Dally and taking one of his hands in his.

“The day she died I got the worst beating of my life. Knocked me out for hours, I could barely walk. Cause it was my fault, it was all my fault.” He said the words sharply like he was stabbing his emotions back down with every word.

“He couldn't stay in this house anymore, not without her, so he yanked me to New York. And I guess you know it from there.”

Dally stood up, wrenching his hand from Johnnys and squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to stop crying. 

His face was stained with tears, but he had stopped crying, and he couldn't look at Johnny. He had just spilled his entire crappy life to a sixteen-year-old kid that had it worse than him, and even so, never cried. He had *cried*, actually cried, in front of Johnny. He was worse than soft. He was weak, he was dumb, and he had acted like he cared, for the first time in a long time.

“Let's go, kid, let's get out of here, I don't know why I brought you here.”

“Dally?” Johnny spoke quietly, as if afraid he might snap. 

“Yeah?”

“Please, Dal, look at me”

Dally turned, looking at Johnny, his face still marked with tear tracks and his eyes red.

“I’m so sorry, Dally. I'm so, so sorry.”

Dally shook his head.

“It's fine, kid. Let's just go, okay? I can't be here anymore.”

He walked out, and he heard Johnny follow him.

“Sorry I took you there, man. I don't know what I was thinking.” He started the car, engine roaring to a start.

“I liked it,” Johnny said quietly, standing beside the car, and Dally grinned, shaking his head.

“No, you didn't.”

“Honest, Dal, I did. It's real nice, I like the pink kitchen.”

The corner of Dallys lips twitched a little.

“Man, you sure are somethin’, Cade.”


End file.
